| If from dust we come and to dust we go,
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| yesterday from the mountain, tomorrow from the sea.
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| There are powders that swirl in the wind
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| and there are others that we will end up in the well.
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| Time and money go from marriage,
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| the prism of charisma and immediacy
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| and a scream of Van Goth from that madhouse
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| can still be heard from sanity...
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| or of foolishness.
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| Like a seagull from beyond the grave
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| no matter where he was
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| whether in full sun or in semi-darkness
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| Release the moorings
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| with some ants and grasshoppers,
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| kneel down, over and over again
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| think yes,
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| burn brightly and leave nothing behind
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| between soul and mind
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| Let yourself live, let yourself out, spill out
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| but it is not to be or not to be,
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| but it's not just to be or not to be
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| but it is not to be or not to be:
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| Is I saw you or I didn't see you.
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| And so luck continues to fly over,
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| watching us all from somewhere
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| and like birdseed we water our dreams
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| Let's see if one day he gets excited and goes down to snack.
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| There are always third parties that will run your world,
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| the owners of the memory, of oblivion, of the off side.
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| They hold the mirror to the great Compay Segundo,
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| the one who in a few seconds became Compay again
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| and now you see him fly
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| like a seagull from beyond the grave.
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| no matter where you were
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| whether in full sun or in semi-darkness. |